


getting carried away

by whalers



Series: otp: loyal to a fault [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Non-Consensual Touching, again. the daud/thomas is from thomas' pov because he loves that man., and very vague and brief hints at daud/the outsider, there's allusions to a relationship between thomas and rinaldo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:03:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11569920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalers/pseuds/whalers
Summary: He hears crashing waves and smells the salt of the sea, something he has never experienced up until now. Whoever made this must have put a lot of magic into it, a lot of feeling, he thinks, as he moves to pocket the rune.Then the world suddenly goes murky and dark, a freezing cold hand touches the back of his neck, and he starts violently, turning around, hand pulling out his sword before he even registers it -- but no one is there.; the Outsider takes an interest in Thomas and gets a little carried away, much to Daud's disgust.





	getting carried away

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to [strange and beautiful, by aqualung](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZwGWRrIlz68) on repeat while writing this.

They’re scattered all over the city, those elegant shrines dedicated to the Outsider. Rich purple cloth draped over a wooden altar, either bonecharms or runes placed reverently in the center. Thomas has seen them back in Tyvia as well, so it’s no surprise when they stumble upon them during excursions to the city. They always pocket whatever they find to bring back to Daud, to do whatever he does with them. Sometimes he shares them, but most of the time he keeps them carefully tucked into the chest in his room. Thomas understands. It became apparent early on that Daud gains more power with the more runes he collects. In their line of work, with the particular work they do, it’s important to have all the advantages one can get, especially with so many wanted posters plastered all over the city.

He can understand why, as he stands in front of one of the shrines, holding the rune in his hand. Even through the gloves he can feel the power emanating from the whale bone. It sings to him, whispering in a language he cannot understand. He hears crashing waves and smells the salt of the sea, something he has never experienced up until now. Whoever made this must have put a lot of magic into it, a lot of feeling, he thinks, as he moves to pocket the rune.

Then the world suddenly goes murky and dark, a freezing cold hand touches the back of his neck, and he starts violently, turning around, hand pulling out his sword before he even registers it -- but no one is there. He is the sole occupant of the room. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and he searches the room thoroughly, throwing open closet doors and checking under tables, even activating his Void Gaze. Although weaker than Daud’s, he can clearly see that no one else but him in is this room. But… what had that touch been? Something ice cold had caressed the back of his neck, turned his vision all wrong. Fear settles deep in his chest, as well as a sudden urge to scrub himself clean. He needs to go home, he needs to be away from this shrine, from the frantic scrawled writing on the walls ( _the outsider is watching the outsider is watching_ ).

“Thomas! You done in here?” Rulfio appears in the doorway, tilts his head when he notices Thomas’ tense posture. “Is everything okay?” He’s already turning his head left and right, trying to see if there’s anything that could have startled Thomas. Thomas hates worrying Rulfio, hates worrying anyone, even for the slightest of things, and he takes a deep, even breath to steady his nerves for the time being. It won’t do them any good to stay in one spot for overly long. They should already be making their way back home.

“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

Rulfio nods, though a little skeptical, and Thomas follows him out, but not before casting one last glance at the shrine. Is the Outsider truly watching, he wonders? If so, the leviathan must be laughing at him.

 

* * *

 

It keeps happening. Every time he picks up a rune there’s cold fingers on his neck, trailing down his back, someone whispers in his ear in a language he can never hope to translate, whale song echoes in his head. There are times when he cannot move, no matter how much he wills his body to push away the invisible fingers that dance across his skin. It doesn’t feel good. Touch like this has never felt good. Rinaldo even knows better than to touch him this way. It feels like the phantom hands he feels after a nightmare. He doesn’t know how to make it stop. He doesn’t even know why it’s happening, or if it happens to anyone else. Does Daud experience this? Is this why Thomas sometimes hears him cursing the Outsider’s name under his breath?

He stumbles out of the bathroom after a long bath, skin rubbed red, aching from body memories and how hard he scrubbed. This isn’t unusual for him, no one but Daud even gives him a second glance. Maybe it’s the way he’s hunched over himself, the way he eyes the rune left on the desk warily, that catches Daud’s attention. He suddenly understands why the overseers destroy the things. Maybe this happens to them too, or maybe they’re scared it will. The Outsider doesn’t toy with just anyone, he’s not stupid enough to think he’s special in any means. He’s some ( _former mudlark prostitute scum under people’s shoes_ ) nobody. Just another whaler. Especially since they’ve all started wearing those masks.

“Thomas.” Daud’s gravelly voice jerks him from his thoughts. Any other day he’d do anything for Daud to look at him, to have private moments with the man, but tonight he feels like he doesn’t fit right in his skin, as if someone molded him all wrong, and he doesn’t want Daud to see him so weak. That’s happened too many times over the years. And though he’s hasn’t curled up in the corner of Daud’s room for a good number of years, going up to him and spilling out his guts would make him feel like that terrified little twelve year old that Daud rescued so very long ago.

“ _Thomas._ ”

Thomas blinks rapidly, bringing up his gaze from where it’s fallen to the floor. He needs to stop getting lost his his thoughts like this. It’s making him look like Pavel. “Yes, Master Daud?”

“Are you alright?”

“Just tired, sir.” It’s nice that Daud still asks, even though the answers are always about the same. He suddenly, actually, feels very tired. He hasn’t been getting much sleep lately, though he can never recall the dreams. He’s about to excuse himself to bed when Daud narrows his eyes and tells Thomas to follow him.

Thomas follows without a second thought, passing a few of the others on his way. Misha gives him a quizzical look, Rinaldo gazes at him with concern, his fingers itching to pull him into bed so he can rest, Jasper and Rulfio sit atop a nearby bookshelf, laughing quietly and whispering to each other like children. Thomas feels almost bitter towards them, for being able to be so happy and worry free when some unknown entity is messing with him, but he stomps those feelings into the dust immediately. There’s no need to take his frustrations out on them. Rulfio means a lot to him, his smile can brighten a room in seconds. If Thomas could call anyone a little brother, it would be Rulfio. And though he and Jasper don’t speak all that much, he has nothing against her either. She’s a valuable informant and has even been there to help them on missions if one of them overshoots a transversal or lands in a sticky situation. They’re just kids. Thomas is tired and not thinking straight.

Rubbing at his eyes, Thomas looks to Daud curiously as they enter his room. Water drips in the corner of the room, a steady but quiet _dripdripdrip_ that makes his eyelids grow even heavier. Hopefully Daud won’t keep him long. As much as he loves being near Daud, Thomas doesn’t want to risk falling asleep where he stands, and he doesn’t think Daud will be very happy if Thomas falls asleep in his room like he used to. He’s not a little kid anymore. And Billie would never let him live it down.

“You’ve been off lately,” Daud starts, leaning his hip against his desk. His scrutinizing gaze makes Thomas shiver. “What’s wrong.”

Has his recent distress been so obvious? Thomas has been under the impression that only Rinaldo has noticed (because he notices every little change in Thomas’ usual demeanor from years of their odd little friendship). Maybe he looks worse than he thought. The mirrors in their bases are usually warped or cracked, and he doesn’t like looking at his reflection for very long anyway.

“I,” he struggles to find the right words. “I haven’t been getting much sleep lately, that’s all.” He doesn’t want to cause any extra problems for Daud. His leader has enough to worry about, between sorting through documents and information for various missions, their budget list, keeping everything in order, keeping everyone accounted for, making sure missions are handled properly -- it’s all so much. Thomas doesn’t want to be another burden added to the list. He needs to get himself in order. Stop messing around and getting distracted by whatever has been happening to him and focus on his work, on not appearing so weak that Daud calls him to his room to ask if he’s okay. “Not because of Rinaldo,” he adds hastily, realizing his comment can mean a lot of things.

Daud gives him a hard stare for a few tense moments, then sends him off with the order to get some rest. They have a mission together at the end of the week and he needs Thomas to be ready.

 

* * *

 

The mission is relatively simple; take out the target in the dead of night and make sure no one is around to see. Standard mission, nothing all that special or hard to do. Thomas has a feeling this is why Daud took him along instead of Billie. He doubts Billie would want to go on such a standard job when she has more important matters to attend to, such as tougher jobs, or bedding Quinn, his mind supplies unhelpfully. Either luck is on their side or the house is severely unguarded, because they finish quicker than what Thomas is used to. He’s been crouched on a high ledge, transversing back and forth to the windows, scanning the surrounding area for any roaming house servants or guards. There’s absolutely no one about. He’d think it was a trap if Daud’s Void Gaze hadn’t indicated zero alarms.

Thomas feels a tug at his center, as if someone is pulling at his strings, and suddenly he is standing before Daud, who’s cleaning off his blade on the dead man’s jacket.

“It’s done. Search the rooms for anything, then we’re leaving.”

Thomas brings his fist up to his chest and bows. “Sir.” He leaves as quickly as he was summoned, transversing into the adjoining room.

Shifting through boxes, closets, and drawers give up a few health elixirs and ammo. More than Thomas is expecting, and he contentedly slips his findings into his coat. Various documents, one or two that can have serious repercussions if they land onto the wrong person’s desk, also find their way into his coat. He feels almost… at ease? For once there’s not a constant patrol in the halls, the usual nerves that come along with a mission are eased, just a bit, and he can enjoy being on a mission alone with Daud. He sighs, the sound made tinny by his mask, as he scans the room for anything else.

There’s a bookcase pushed up against the wall, the scratches on the floor indicating it’s been moved around more than a few times. He doesn’t see any switches or levers, no papers that give away any sort of special book that, once pulled out, allows the bookcase to slide away from whatever it’s hiding, like in Doctor Galvani’s office. It’s a matter of pushing the bookcase aside himself, he muses, bracing his hands against the wood of the bookcase and _pushing_. His lithe body is built for stealth and technique, relying heavily on transversing and careful movements, not the brute strength that whalers like Javier and Feodor possess. He manages, at least, with no small amount of difficulty, pushing the bookcase aside enough for him to slip inside the hidden room.

All good nights must come to an end, in some way or another.

Thomas tenses, a full body shiver going through him. The air is different, colder, smells of that too familiar sea salt. Whale song carries on a wind that should not exist in a room without windows. Purple cloth is hung reverently on every wall of the room, free from dust. A shrine stands directly across from him, pushed against the opposite wall, the two bonecharms and rune hissing and singing and nearly vibrating from the amount of energy they contain. The air feels _alive_. He knows it won’t be long before the phantom fingers reach for his neck. He knows he can just leave the rune and bonecharms there for Daud to retrieve, but it’d be all so much easier and less time constraining if he gets it himself. Clenching his hands into shaky fists, he takes a breath and transverses to the shrine, scooping up the bonecharms and rune as quickly as he can. It’s not fast enough.

He’s just one man (not even; he’s barely twenty, who is he kidding?) who’s been using the borrowed powers of the very deity that’s been taunting him for weeks. To think he can outrun the Outsider is foolish. He’s foolish.

His vision goes grainy around the edges, blue and grey and black, the sound of crashing waves fills his ears, that damned language whispering in his ears clearing out into something he can finally understand. He makes out _Thomas_ before a young man materializes before him, dressed in a black coat, his hair cut short, his black eyes as deep as pits. Thomas feels as if he’s drowning in those eyes. The Outsider (because that’s who this is, that’s who’s been toying with him, this is _him_ , right in front of Thomas) smiles down at him. Thomas can’t move as those cold hands reach around to hold the back of his neck, that pale face getting _too close too close._

“How interesting,” he says, his voice otherworldly. Thomas shivers again. Those fingers, pale as death, unfasten the clasps of his mask and pull it off, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor. The Outsider pushes Thomas’ hood back, still smiling, fingers curling around the back of his neck again. “You really are something, aren’t you? So loyal to our dear friend Daud. More than willing to give up everything you have just for him, and for what?”

His throat won’t work. The Outsider knows this. The distressed expression on his face must be so amusing because the Outsider lets out a small chuckle.

“He’s not going to keep you around forever.”

And that’s -- _terrifying,_ perhaps more terrifying than the very real possibility of the Outsider doing something to him in his paralyzed state. He can’t think of a life without serving under Daud, being near him, helping him when he needs, watching him mingle with other people, catching those rare smiles, listening the gravel rough sound of his voice, that underlying Serkonan accent that rounds out his vowels. He must mean something to Daud for him to have saved him from that horrible nightmarish place, for Daud to personally train him, for Daud to take note of his boundaries and limits, for Daud to sit around in the early mornings on the days Thomas can’t sleep in their poor excuse for a dining room, sipping coffee and listening to the birds announce daybreak. All of those little things can’t be for nothing. Daud isn’t a kind man by any means, sure, but Thomas doesn’t think -- doesn’t _want_ to think that Daud will ever cast him aside. Thomas may not be Daud’s favorite, that spot is reserved for Billie, always has, but he must mean _something_ to him.

The Outsider’s fingers start to make their way down his neck, down his back, and his fingers are so cold that Thomas can feel the chill even beneath all his layers.

“What is it about him that has you so captivated? You aren’t very subtle with your _admiration_.” The way he says admiration holds the heavy implication that he knows exactly just how much Thomas is taken with Daud. Can the leviathan read minds? Does he know everything going inside Thomas’ head? The knowing smiling he gives Thomas answers the unspoken question louder than any verbal answer could.

“You could do so much better.” The Outsider leans in, whispering in Thomas’ ear. His fingers have left Thomas’ back and how rise to press beneath Thomas’ jaw, tilting his head up so they can lock eyes. “You have such potential.”

A low, guttural growl sounds from the doorway and Thomas feels the world shift, just a bit, the grey black blue hues of the void still surround them, but he can move again. He wrenches himself away from the Outsider, taking in deep shuddering breaths as he backs up. His back meets Daud’s chest, then Daud is in front of him, staring down the Outsider as if he has even the slightest chance of besting him in any kind of fight. Thomas as seen that expression on Daud before, dark, furious, seconds away from snapping someone’s neck.

“What are you _doing_.”

The Outsider clasps his hands behind his back, lowering himself to the floor so he is more or less eye level with Daud, instead of gazing down on him like he did with Thomas.

“My old friend.” His voice doesn’t sound very amicable. His demeanor almost feels cold, though he still has that amused smile on his ghostly face. “Are you jealous I’ve been paying more attention to your little pup than you?”

“You mean disturbing his sleep and touching him as if he’s yours?”

The Outsider simply tilts his head like a curious boy. “You say that as if he’s yours.”

“How long has this been going on?” Daud demands, not deigning to answer the Outsider’s comment.

“You _are_ jealous. But is it because I’m giving him my attention or because I’m touching something you already consider yours, I wonder.” The Outsider taps his cheek, glancing up at the ceiling as he pretends to consider the two possibilities. He gaze snaps back down to Daud when Daud grabs the front of his jacket.

“Leave him alone. If you can’t even be bothered to keep your hands to yourself then you should go after someone who --” He breaks off, but the message is clear. Someone who isn’t touch averse, isn’t irreversibly damaged and needs to scrub their skin raw to wash away the feeling of hands on them. Someone who isn't vulnerable. Someone who actually _wants_ the Outsider's attention. The Outsider traces the line of Daud’s scar, tilting his head to the side. He doesn’t seem quite so cold anymore. Thomas feels like he needs to leave, immediately, like he’s seeing some sort of display that he shouldn’t be allowed to see, as if something bad may happen. But it doesn’t. Nothing bad happens at all. The Outsider just leans in and says something only Daud can hear, then he’s gone. The world rights itself, colors coming back into focus, the shadows no longer reaching across the floorboards like hands waiting to grab them. Thomas realizes he’s been holding onto Daud’s coat when Daud turns to look at him.

He hastily lets go, wide eyed and disoriented. He stutters something he doesn’t even understand and Daud just sighs, long and suffering, like he’s dealt with the Outsider’s antics for much too long. Does the Outsider touch Daud like this too? Does he do more? There are too many questions and absolutely no answers. Thomas feels almost more sick at the thought of Daud having some relationship with the Outsider than at everything that just happened.

Daud ushers him forward, says they’re leaving, in a tired voice that books no arguments. Thomas bends to pick up his mask and makes it out to the hallway before his knees buckle out from under him and he falls. Daud grips him by the arm, moves to hoist Thomas over his shoulder so they can just leave. Daud doesn’t want to be in this house anymore, doesn’t want to be near that shrine, knows the Outsider is going to pay him a visit soon and he isn’t looking forward to it. A strangled noise from the back of Thomas’ throat stops him and instead, he stands beside Thomas and instructs him to breathe as he draws in ragged breaths, fingers tangled in his hair.

 

* * *

 

Thomas can’t sleep. He’s exhausted and his hands tremble as he pours coffee into a cracked mug. He doesn’t want to sleep. He wants to know what all that was. Did the Outsider get bored of visiting Daud and decide to branch out? But why him? And why the touching? He isn’t _interesting_ , no matter what the Outsider says. He’s just a whaler. He has never been anything important. He follows others, he does as he’s told, he waits for approval in the form of nods and short words. Thomas can’t understand the way the Outsider thinks or behaves. That must be the point; the Outsider is a centuries old deity. A god. He doesn’t need to make sense. He’s not the type of entity that one turns to for comfort, not unless they have a particularly good relationship with him. The Outsider is just _there_ , watching, waiting, looking at the little humans scurry around and trying to find someone that catches his interest amongst the millions of simple, boring fools.

He startles slightly at the sound of heavy boots, but it’s only Daud, irritable from lack of sleep. It’s too early even for the sun to be peaking over the roofs of the crumbling buildings around them.

Wordlessly, Thomas pours a cup for Daud, sliding it across the counter to him. Daud leans against the counter, bringing the mug to his lips and taking a long sip. He sighs, sounding much too tired, looking too old for his age. Thomas feels the sudden need to apologize; for what, he isn’t sure. Causing problems between Daud and the Outsider? Not telling Daud weeks ago so he could put the stop to it before it became so much? Adding onto Daud’s pile of stress? All of that and more. His mouth can’t seem to work out the words. He gazes at Daud for a long moment, Daud catching his gaze. Daud sighs again, drinks back the rest of his coffee. He puts his mug onto the counter and looks at Thomas with too tired grey eyes that hold his gaze, even when Thomas wants to look away.

“Don’t listen to anything he told you.”

Thomas nods, gripping his mug tightly. It’s too hot. He doesn’t let go.

“He doesn’t know what boundaries are. He doesn’t know when to back off. He’s just doing it to get under my skin. To see how you react.”

Thomas doesn’t know if Daud tells him this to reassure him, himself, or to avoid giving a better explanation. He doesn’t ask for one. Finally, he finds his voice.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Daud raises an eyebrow.

“For the trouble. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything, Thomas.”

Thomas nods, though he doesn’t quite believe him. But Daud isn’t scolding him, isn’t gazing at him like he’s gone and messed everything up for him, so maybe it’s true. Maybe this really is just the Outsider getting carried away with whatever goes on in his head. Daud is just tired. Thomas is tired. Despite the exhaustion, he’s grateful for Daud’s presence, keeping his grounded, simply being near and speaking to him, caring about him.

Thomas takes Daud’s mug and refills it with coffee. It’s a long way until morning. He may make some breakfast for the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time i've ever written the Outsider and as you can see i have no idea what i'm doing. i'm sorry if he comes off super creepy ;; i tried.  
> i also realized i used the word tired to describe daud like. 600 times.
> 
> Thomas is nearly twenty in this and Daud is almost forty. Thomas doesn't know when his birthday is so he considers himself another year old when the year turns.  
> he also just .. has a lot of issues and i didn't want to dig too deep into them for this fic but now yall know where he came from! and why he doesn't like touch. Thomas is super important to me for a million reasons.
> 
> i need to actually write them getting cozy together but all you get right now is calm moments together. the Outsider knows he'd give himself entirely to Daud and that's why he's like :3c
> 
> leave a kudos/comment if you liked it! if you have any suggestions, lmk! any tips on writing the Outsider, please lmk askdjks


End file.
